


Disclosure

by apparitionism



Series: Interpersonal [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe-Psychology Study, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apparitionism/pseuds/apparitionism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two previously unacquainted people participate in a psychology study about the generation of interpersonal closeness. Will interpersonal closeness in fact be generated? Well, here are a couple of pieces of pertinent information: one person’s name is Myka Bering; the other person’s name is Helena Wells. If you were betting, what sort of outcome would you put your money on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the larger explanation: In a January 2015 piece in the New York Times’s Modern Love column, Mandy Len Catron wrote about a 1997 psychology study involving relationship-building; interestingly, the study’s methodology seemed to cause people to fall in love. She decided to try for herself its basic task: previously unacquainted partners ask each other increasingly personal questions (this was the “closeness-generating” condition; the control group asked each other small-talk questions) and then look into each other’s eyes for a set number of minutes. She cheated by doing this with someone she already knew, and was already interested in, but still, she and the guy fell in love. The Times also published the closeness-generating questions, and I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to work through them in/as a B&W AU of some sort. Mostly this is a dialogue/backstory exercise, more a playlet than a story proper.

Forty people sit in a classroom. The classroom is in a building at the University of Colorado, Denver, yet none of the people here are students—the profusion of attachés and business attire, if nothing else, gives them away: they are subjects, and this is an experiment.

A young woman with red hair and an insouciant manner enters the room. She is dressed far more casually than most of the classroom’s occupants are, and she looks as if she might be the young student they are not. Instead of taking a seat among them, however, she marches to the front of the room and begins to speak.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m Claudia Donovan, and I’m a research assistant in the Department of Health and Behavioral Studies here. First, a huge thanks to all of you for volunteering to participate in our study. As you know from the ad you answered—but as I’m obligated to inform you again—we’re following up on some earlier research regarding the development of close interpersonal relationships, and we wanted to look at a population that isn’t Intro Psych undergrads. Pause for laughter… okay, you’re not laughing, so never mind.

“The way this will work is that once you’ve signed the release forms and we do one last check to make sure you’re in the demographics we’re looking for, I’ll send you to a cubicle, where you’ll meet the person we’ve paired you with, based on the initial questionnaires you filled out online. We’ll have you affirm that you don’t already know your partner, and then we’ll give you an iPad with a series of questions that you’ll ask and answer together. There are three sets of questions, twelve in each set, thirty-six total, and you can figure out who asks and answers: alternate questions, or sets, or whatever you want. When you’ve answered the last question, swipe to the next page, and you’ll see a timer. Hit start when you’re ready, and then—this’ll sound crazy, but we want you and your partner to look into each other’s eyes until the timer dings. It’s only four minutes, but trust me, it’ll seem like an eternity. Just try to go with it. Once you’re done with that ordeal, come back in here to complete a brief post-interaction questionnaire, and that’s it! Sounds like a perfect way to spend a Thursday evening, right? Think of it as speed dating, but way slower, with only one person and no drinks or even coffee!” She stops speaking and offers a grin and a thumbs-up. Aside from a few weak chuckles, the room is silent. “Yeah, that was another pause for laughter. Tough crowd. Okeydokey. Let’s do those release forms. I’ll even hand out pens—but don’t steal my pens—and then you can get started on your… well, let’s just call ’em blind dates.”

As Claudia Donovan readies her documents and cheap ballpoints, the people in the room glance at each other. Their facial expressions are clearly legible: are you my partner? Are you? What about you—and what will we find ourselves saying to each other if you are?

****  
The cubicles are small spaces: three and a half walls, with a desktop across one wall, and two chairs. A number is stapled on the exterior of each cubicle, next to the entry space, and a tall, dark-haired woman wearing a charcoal-gray suit over a somewhat incongruously bright purple shirt approaches the cubicle designed “13.” She carries a long wool coat and a well-traveled brown messenger bag, and upon entering the tiny space, she sets these items carefully in a corner. She takes a seat in a chair, clearly waiting for her partner, the matching “13,” to arrive. Voices begin to issue from the other cubicles, so some pairs are beginning their introductions, even their questions, already. The woman taps a boot-clad foot—her boots are stylish leather, rather than thick and snow proof, for it is early April, and the sidewalks are mostly clear. She drums her fingers very lightly on the desktop.

Her counterpart, also a dark-haired woman, similarly dark-suited and bright-shirted—blue in her case—but empty-handed, arrives nearly out of breath. “So sorry,” she says, a British accent shaping her enunciation. “I lingered over the paperwork.”

“That’s okay,” says the first woman. She stands and extends her right hand. “I’m Myka Bering.”

“Helena Wells,” her partner says.

They shake hands. They look down at the iPad on the desktop. “Three sets of questions,” Myka Bering says. “Want to flip a coin to see who goes first in the first set, then the other person can go first in the second set? Probably easier to keep track of things that way.”

“Then free-for-all in the third?” Helena Wells suggests, and Myka Bering responds, “Why not.”

As a result of the coin-flip, Myka Bering is to answer first.

****  
**SET I**

 _Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?_  
MB: Octavia Butler. Or maybe Eleanor Roosevelt.  
HW: Oscar Wilde. Or, since you picked a second, Katharine Hepburn. Then again, speaking of Eleanors, perhaps the actual Eleanor of Aquitaine.

 _Would you like to be famous? In what way?_  
MB: God no. Well, maybe as an author or, say, a philanthropist. But not one with a face.  
HW: Only if it is the result of a real accomplishment. And in that case, in whatever way that results from what one has accomplished.

 _Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?_  
MB: All the time. Because otherwise I might get sidetracked.  
HW: Rarely. Because I might mire myself in a boring script.

 _What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?_  
MB: Reading whatever I want, with no goal or agenda or pressure. And then maybe cooking dinner, something different. New. With weird ingredients, maybe.  
HW: For yourself, or for… someone?  
MB: Aren’t you supposed to answer? Instead of asking more questions?  
HW: Fine. Perfect day. Fulfilling some plan that I’d had for some time. Finally bringing something to fruition.  
MB: Does it matter what?  
HW: I suppose it could matter. But for now let’s say it doesn’t. And I believe you are now guilty of asking additional questions.  
MB: Okay, okay.

 _When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?_  
MB: In the shower this morning. Did I really just admit to that? I don’t think I’ve ever sung to someone else. Except if you count church, when I was little.  
HW: I hum to myself on occasion. Rather, I catch myself humming on occasion. I don’t sing.  
MB: Ever?  
HW: Ever. I can’t sing, and I don’t enjoy doing things at which I’m incompetent.

 _If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?_  
MB: Body. I wouldn’t want to go back to my thirty-year-old mind.  
HW: Hm… well, given your answer, I’ll have to take “body” as well.  
MB: Why?  
HW: Suppose we do develop a… what was it, what was it… close interpersonal relationship. What good would it do us, then, if your body remained thirty and mine aged?  
MB: It’s a hypothetical!  
HW: Yes. Hypothetically, if this experiment has the predicted result, then if your body remained thirty and mine aged, it would do us no good at all.  
MB: How close do you think this interpersonal relationship we’re hypothetically developing is going to be, anyway?  
HW: I couldn’t begin to guess. I’m just imagining a best-case scenario. Unless of course the idea is troubling to you?  
MB: What? No, it’s not _troubling_ to me; I just didn’t necessarily… I mean… let’s do the next question, okay?

 _Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?_  
MB: No.  
HW: Yes.  
MB: What is it?  
HW: That wasn’t the question.

 _Name three things you and your partner seem to have in common._  
MB: We’re both white.  
HW: How boring.  
MB: We’ve both got dark hair.  
HW: Still boring.  
MB: We both want to have dinner with dead people.  
HW: Far more interesting. My turn: we’re both intelligent.  
MB: That’s also a little boring. Good, but boring.  
HW: Hm. We both went to church as children.  
MB: Nice attention to detail.  
HW: Thank you. And finally, we’re both screamers.  
MB: Wait, what? How could you possibly know that about me? You don’t know that! Don’t say that!  
HW: The question was, “seem to have in common.” I’m inferring.  
MB: Based on _what_?  
HW: At the moment, how upset you seem to have become at my having said it out loud.  
MB: Are you doing this on purpose?  
HW: Doing what?  
MB: Never mind.

 _For what in your life do you feel most grateful?_  
MB: My health.  
HW: My daughter.  
MB: You have a daughter?  
HW: Yes.  
MB: How old is she?  
HW: Nine.  
MB: Wow.  
HW: Yes, that’s generally my feeling in the matter.  
MB: Seriously.  
HW: Indeed, seriously.

 _If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?_  
MB: I… I guess I’d want my father to have acted a little less disappointed that I’m a girl.  
HW: Disappointed? That is appalling.  
MB: Well. I can’t change it, can I?  
HW: No. That makes it no less appalling, but no.  
MB: What about you?  
HW: I suppose I’d change… honestly I don’t know. I think my parents did as well as they could with me. I was terribly difficult. I seemed to have felt a desperate need to run around, to keep moving and never stop. Through it all, my parents were very understanding. I might have wished them to be less so; I could have stood a sterner hand. I lived so… wildly.  
MB: It’s good, though, that you feel like they understood you. That’s what I think I wanted from my father.  
HW: More fool he.  
MB: How does your daughter’s father feel about it? I mean, about her being a girl?  
HW: I’ve no idea. He isn’t involved. Had he been, however, that would have come to an abrupt end with any expression of disappointment.  
MB: I like that. It’s hardline, but good.

 _Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible._  
MB: Why do I have to go first? This is too hard.  
HW: I’m going first in the next round, remember?  
MB: Fine. Fine. I was born in Colorado Springs; I grew up there. My dad owned—owns—a bookstore, and I worked there all through school. My sister hates books because of the store, but I love them, so I majored in literature, that and political science, at CU-Boulder, and then because I talked to a really persuasive recruiter at a job fair, I ended up in the Secret Service. And then I left, because I made a mistake, and then I wanted to… um. Atone for that. So I stayed in law enforcement. I was a uniform for a while, then a detective, and now I’m in Investigations, in campus security, here. Started six months ago… no, seven now. That’s it.  
HW: That isn’t detailed at all. You have at least half your time left, and you’ve omitted your entire romantic history.  
MB: I don’t have much of one.  
HW: But surely something.  
MB: I was involved with a guy.  
HW: Really.  
MB: It was a mistake, for a lot of reasons. And then I was involved with a woman.  
HW: Better. From a certain perspective.  
MB: Well. I didn’t do any better with her. That was a mistake too. Oh, speaking of mistakes, I got shot twice.  
HW: Now that your time is up, we get to the salient details. Shot twice. We’ll revisit this.  
MB: Or not. Your turn.  
HW: I was born in London, and _I_ grew up _there_. My mother was an economist, my father a neuroscientist. You can imagine the arguments… the nature of rationality, the role of brain chemistry, from whence do our decisions arise, et cetera. I was intended to follow in someone’s—either’s—footsteps, but I unfortunately reached a certain academic point and then rebelled; I continued the aforementioned running around, for years. In spite of it, I did quite well in business for a while—behavioral consulting—but finally realized, after the birth of the also-aforementioned daughter, that a fresh start might do me good. Thus I finally chose to follow in the academic footsteps, and now I am on the faculty here. I started seven months ago as well.  
MB: You’ve got at least half your time left too. What about _your_ romantic past?  
HW: I told you: I lived wildly.  
MB: That doesn’t sound very romantic.  
HW: Then perhaps I have no romantic past.  
MB: That is quite frankly unbelievable.  
HW: These days, I find that a child tends to make most people turn their attentions elsewhere.  
MB: Maybe you need to do more of this slow speed dating type of thing.  
HW: Perhaps I do.

 _If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?_  
MB: Ooh, I like this one. It’s something I’ve actually thought about. I want way better manual dexterity.  
HW: What? Why?  
MB: I have an eidetic memory. I could take in so much more material if I could turn pages faster, or click a mouse faster, or swipe a tablet or a phone faster.  
HW: That is… unexpected.  
MB: Yeah, I know, it’s weird. But it’s just that there’s so much out there, and I could have so much more of it! Wait, you’re looking at me funny. What is it?  
HW: Nothing. Just thinking about manual dexterity.  
MB: Oh, please. Just… just answer the question.  
HW: Well, those who know me would say humility would be a good start.  
MB: I don’t doubt that for a minute. But I bet that isn’t anything you _want_. What do you want?  
HW: Well… I might actually like to be able to sing. As referenced earlier.  
MB: That’s also unexpected. And really kind of sweet.  
HW: It isn’t. It’s vain.  
MB: Mine’s pretty vain too. I mean I basically said I want to be the ultimate know-it-all. Come to think of it, I should’ve just skipped the dexterity step.  
HW: Oh, no. Please don’t skip that; I’m still thinking about that.  
MB: Are you like this all the time?  
HW: Like what?  
MB: Never mind. What’s the next question? Oh thank god, we’re on the second set. Your turn to go first.

**SET II**

_If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?_  
HW: Yes, my turn to go first. What a question to start with… well, obviously, I’d want to know for certain whether you’re a screamer—  
MB: So you _are_ like this all the time.  
HW: Not _all_ the time. Honestly, I might like to know my daughter’s future more than mine. What will happen to her once I’m gone, once I’ll no longer know.  
MB: Thank you. And that makes complete sense. I guess I’d like to know when I’m going to die, so I could do things.  
HW: What things?  
MB: See the pyramids. The Great Wall.  
HW: Bucket-list activities… skydiving?  
MB: I don’t think I want to do that. I’ve never waterskied, though, and I’ve always wondered if it’s like real skiing. Maybe that.

 _Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?_  
HW: So all right, why haven’t you seen the pyramids or the Great Wall? Or waterskied?  
MB: You’re supposed to answer first in this set!  
HW: Fine. I’ve dreamed of hearing a beautiful woman—who is a screamer, though she doesn’t like it said out loud—explain to me why she’s never waterskied.  
MB: That’s just—  
HW: Tell me! I’ll answer after you tell me.  
MB: I basically did tell you. I’m in law enforcement. And I’ve made mistakes. The woman who was a mistake, we were actually going to go to Egypt, but then I couldn’t because of something that was happening in an investigation, and that’s when it all went wrong. Is that enough for you?  
HW: Fine. I’ve dreamed of… this will sound silly.  
MB: Sillier than “Sorry, the pyramids will have to wait, because my lieutenant says too many cars are being jacked in Belcaro”?  
HW: All right. I’ve dreamed of taking my daughter to Disneyland.  
MB: That doesn’t sound silly. That sounds pretty normal.  
HW: So inanely normal. Awful, isn’t it?  
MB: No. Sweet. Like your wanting to be able to sing. So why haven’t you done it?  
HW: The same answer as yours: time and circumstance. I thought we might go a few years ago, but plans change.

 _What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?_  
HW: The aforementioned daughter. You?  
MB: I don’t know.  
HW: You must have a greatest accomplishment.  
MB: I get out of bed every day? No, that’s stupid, that’s not it. I’ve run towards the gunshots? That’s better, but it was still my job. All I’ve ever really done is my job.  
HW: That seems quite great.  
MB: Do you mean that?  
HW: Of course I do.  
MB: Thanks.

 _What do you value most in a friendship?_  
HW: I have very few friends.  
MB: That wasn’t the question.  
HW: Yes, I know. I suppose I value honesty. Sounds trite.  
MB: No. Not at all. I value… somebody having my back.  
HW: That makes perfect sense, given your profession.  
MB: Yeah. My deputy in my section, Pete, I guess he’s my best friend. We were on the force together too, and I don’t ever doubt he’s there.

 _What is your most treasured memory?_  
HW: Oh, this is easy. I’ll continue to sound like every mother, focused on her child, but: Christina’s first word.  
MB: What was it?  
HW: Music.  
MB: It was like music, or her first word was actually “music”?  
HW: Actually “music.” A reasonable facsimile, at any rate. She wanted the volume turned up, I eventually determined.  
MB: Clearly she’s a prodigy. My first word was something boring like “mama.”  
HW: She didn’t say that for ages. I thought she hated me.  
MB: For taking your sweet time turning up the music?  
HW: She’s always been demanding.  
MB: Seems to take after somebody.  
HW: Well. Treasured memory. Your turn.  
MB: I won a spelling bee.  
HW: A national spelling bee?  
MB: No, just a school one. But I hadn’t even known it was happening; I hadn’t prepped. I just went in cold and won. I know it sounds pointless, but I was on top of the world.  
HW: You treasure the memory. That isn’t pointless.  
MB: It isn’t my child’s first word.  
HW: No, but it does _involve_ words. So we have that in common as well.

 _What is your most terrible memory?_  
HW: Just as easy as the previous question. Awful yet easy. My mother’s death. Very sudden. Aneurism.  
MB: I’m sorry.  
HW: Three years ago. I won’t ever be over it. Hm. And yours?  
MB: My sister was in a car accident. She’s fine now, but I was the one they called when it happened, because my parents were away. Seeing her in the hospital, all banged up and bruised, that was bad, but then I had to go deal with her car. And you don’t think about steel being… fragile. But I looked at that and thought “she must be dead.” That doesn’t make any sense, because I’d just seen her and I knew she was going to recover, but it’s what I thought, that the hospital had been a dream, and she must be dead.  
HW: Now I’m sorry.  
MB: No, she’s fine. Your mom… I really am sorry.  
HW: She knew Christina for some years. That was important.

 _If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?_  
HW: Ha! You would take a vacation and visit the pyramids. You might quit your job in fact.  
MB: I didn’t realize we were supposed to answer for each other. I bet you’d quit your job too, and spend all your time with Christina.  
HW: I might. I might take you waterskiing.  
MB: You should take me and Christina to Disneyland. I’ve never been either.  
HW: That is something to think about.  
MB: I think we need the next question.

 _What does friendship mean to you?_  
HW: Didn’t we have a friendship question already?  
MB: Probably. Doesn’t matter. You keep trying to dodge, now that you’re going first.  
HW: All right, fine. Friendship means… I don’t know. I suppose it means not disappearing, really.  
MB: Do people disappear on you?  
HW: No. I disappear on them. Well. I _did_.  
MB: Do you do that now?  
HW: I told you, I have very few friends. But I’m trying to do better. You?  
MB: It means… I don’t know either. Not disappearing, that’s pretty good. But I think it also means something like, not being afraid to witness a collapse. Or to suffer a collapse. That’s maybe the same thing as not disappearing.  
HW: It may be. That’s certainly when I would have disappeared. In the past.  
MB: And now?  
HW: I’m trying to do better.  
MB: Are you going to disappear on me?  
HW: What?  
MB: This close interpersonal relationship we’re developing.  
HW: I see. Well, as I said, I’m trying to do better. Not to mention…  
MB: Not to mention what?  
HW: Well. Give me a few more questions. Or a drink or two.  
MB: Okay.

 _What roles do love and affection play in your life?_  
HW: Funny, to follow that with this. I suppose love and affection center mainly, and obviously, around my daughter. I do have research assistants of whom I’ve become quite fond, in a very short time. Also I love my father and my brother, but long-distance.  
MB: I guess I would say… not really day-to-day _roles_. I love my family, but it’s like your father and your brother, more long-distance. And affection… there are people I like. I don’t really feel a lot of affection. Maybe for Pete. The one who’s, you know, got my back. I guess that’s affection.  
HW: So not major roles.  
MB: No. Is that pathetic?  
HW: No. Not if it’s honest.

 _Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items._  
HW: Five items. All right, my first item: you do seem terribly honest. Even when you believe it might be to your detriment.  
MB: My first item: You seem to really really love your daughter.  
HW: You’re devastatingly beautiful.  
MB: You’re ridiculous.  
HW: I don’t think you consider that one of my positive characteristics.  
MB: You don’t know. Maybe I do.  
HW: You respond very poorly to flirting.  
MB: Also not positive.  
HW: Now _you_ don’t know. Perhaps it’s what I like in a woman.  
MB: You mean obliviousness?  
HW: No, you’re not oblivious at all. To put it positively: you seem very much aware of just about everything. You know you’re being flirted with; you just don’t know how to respond. Or you put up a façade of not knowing how to respond. Perhaps that’s how _you_ flirt. If so, it’s charming. And quite a positive characteristic.  
MB: It’s not a façade. I really don’t know how to flirt back.  
HW: You see? Honest, even if to your detriment.  
MB: I’ll say that you seem oddly patient.  
HW: I can be. Under the right circumstances. Not to seem impatient now, but you owe me two more. If I’m counting correctly.  
MB: It’s three if you don’t count my saying you’re ridiculous.  
HW: I’ll accept that as a positive characteristic. Two more.  
MB: You seem pretty honest too. You didn’t know how I’d respond to the idea of your wild past.  
HW: I still don’t know, not really.  
MB: People do what they do. I’ve seen a lot of people do a lot of things.  
HW: And what is your philosophy regarding what people _should_ do?  
MB: If they don’t break the law, it’s pretty much their business.  
HW: And if they do break the law?  
MB: They shouldn’t do it where I can see them. Or find out about it.  
HW: That’s a bright line.  
MB: I like bright lines. And I owe you one more… so: you didn’t go back to the screamer thing. Which I hope means you know how to eventually let things go, because I’d definitely consider that a positive characteristic.  
HW: I thought you might.

 _How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?_  
HW: I suppose it was as happy as anyone’s. We were reasonably close, reasonably warm. I believe. Not overly so.  
MB: I guess my childhood was probably—a little less happy than other people’s. I’m not complaining; I know some people have it really bad, and I didn’t. But I wish I’d been less of a disappointment. My family might have been warmer then. Or I’d want to be closer. I don’t know. Can we go to the next question?  
HW: Of course.

 _How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?_  
HW: I feel bereft of it. I feel that she cannot be gone, and yet she is, but how can that be so.  
MB: I’m ashamed to give my answer after that.  
HW: What is your answer?  
MB: I feel fine about my relationship with my mother. That’s how I feel: fine. And there you are, bereft.  
HW: It certainly isn’t your fault.  
MB: Still. That you feel that way… and I get to sit here feeling fine.  
HW: If it’s any consolation, we did disagree about many, many things. She would tell me what I was doing wrong with Christina, and that made smoke emerge from my ears.  
MB: She must have loved you so much.  
HW: I believe she did. All of us—Christina of course, but also my brother and me, and most of all my father. Most of all my father, and he her. _They_ would have had much more to say than you or I about the role of love and affection in their lives.  
MB: Is it bad that I’m envying your parents now?  
HW: No, I envy, or envied, them as well. So difficult to have as an ideal. Nearly impossible to live up to. They weren’t perfect, but they did so clearly love each other.  
MB: But at least you know what you’re looking for, right?  
HW: Perhaps, but will I recognize it when I see it?  
MB: I hope so.  
HW: I hope so too.  
MB: Next question?  
HW: Next question. Oh, it’s the third set. Should we alternate answering these? Will we be able to keep track?  
MB: I guess we’ll see.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original Tumblr tags: I know it's lazy of me to do it as if it were a transcript, but I really just wanted to kick the responses around, and practice making HG bounce in and out of being inappropriately flirty, and let Myka be both fazed and unfazed by that


	2. Chapter 2

**SET III**

_Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling…”_  
MB: We are both in this room feeling… a little warm.  
HW: I don’t feel warm.  
MB: Fine. I’m sure there was a question that I should have answered with “my partner is some sort of knee-jerk contrarian.” _Despite that_ , we are both in this room feeling… like this isn’t the worst way to spend a Thursday night? Or am I wrong?  
HW: You’re not wrong. I’ll accept that, _despite_ the fact that I’m apparently a knee-jerk contrarian. We are not both knee-jerk contrarians, so we… let’s see… we both have demanding jobs. I suspect.  
MB: That’s true. Although in my case sometimes mind-numbing.  
HW: Really?  
MB: Do you know what the campus police help to deal with? _Parking_. I swear I spend half my time investigating complaints about parking tickets.  
HW: You need some sort of officer dedicated to such complaints. An officer who is not you.  
MB: I _need_ to start slashing people’s tires when they tick me off.  
HW: An interesting approach. Most likely an effective one.  
MB: You get that I’m joking, right?  
HW: And yet you may rest assured I will not be complaining about anything parking-related.  
MB: That’s funny.  
HW: Why?  
MB: Because I... well, parking. It’s... intrinsically funny? So. Anyway. We both understand that it’s important not to waste busy people’s time.  
HW: Yes. And if you could make certain department chairs aware of that, I would be eternally grateful.  
MB: I’ll get Facilities Management to boot all their cars. Keep them out of your hair.  
HW: Hm. We are sensitive to others' needs.  
MB: Depends on who the others are, though. And what their needs are.  
HW: Oh, absolutely. But I would certainly be inclined to be sensitive to _your_ needs.  
MB: Oh, stop it. You’re trying to make me blush.  
HW: If I am, it seems to be working.  
MB: We... are going to feel weird about this if we talk to each other outside this cubicle.  
HW: I don’t see why we wouldn’t talk to each other outside this cubicle. Not now.  
MB: Is that supposed to be your third true statement?  
HW: Well, it’s third. And it’s true. So I suppose so.  
MB: You don’t know that it’s true.  
HW: I do know that it’s true. I said that I don’t see why we wouldn’t, and I know that it is true that _I_ don’t see a reason why not. Do you?  
MB: I’m getting confused.  
HW: Just concede the point and we’ll move on.  
MB: Okay, but I have no idea what I conceded.  
HW: All that matters is that I win.  
MB: We are both in this room feeling like this is how things go with you a lot of the time.  
HW: A very true statement.

 _Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share…”_  
MB: This one’s easy. A hairbrush.  
HW: What?  
MB: One time when my sister and I were teenagers, she wanted to borrow my hairbrush, and I said no. I don’t even remember why I said no, but she said, Myka, you’ll never be in a successful relationship until you learn to share. So I guess I’ve always been waiting for the person I wanted to share my hairbrush with. Wanted to _learn_ to share my hairbrush with.  
HW: I don’t think I can match that. I just want someone to share laundry duties. And washing dishes. And various other household tasks.  
MB: I think what you’re really wishing for is a maid.  
HW: That would be very helpful, yes.

 _If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know._  
MB: Important. Important how?  
HW: Important if the goal were to remain friends, I imagine.  
MB: Oh. Well, my schedule’s very important to me.  
HW: Your schedule.  
MB: Right. I don’t like it when my schedule gets thrown off.  
HW: You realize that makes me want to slash _your_ tires. Simply to see what that would do to your very important schedule.  
MB: Whatever happened to being sensitive to others’ needs?  
HW: Yes, but I’m also disinclined to do what I’m told. Which would be important for you to know about me… although I suppose “knee-jerk contrarian” suggests that you’ve discerned it already.  
MB: So people must use a lot of reverse psychology on you.  
HW: My daughter tries to. It’s actually quite precious, though I’d be inclined to do what she wants me to in any case.  
MB: Is it important for me to know that you’re such a softy where she’s concerned?  
HW: I don’t know whether it’s important, but it’s certainly the case.  
MB: Okay. I had a dog when I was a kid.  
HW: That seems a bit of a non sequitur.  
MB: It’s important. Ish.  
HW: All right.  
MB: Because I’m not a dog person at all. I’m not a dog person or a cat person. I’m not a pet person, really. But I had a dog. We got him when I was six. He was six too, already, and he came to live with us because he belonged to one of my dad’s regular customers, who went into a nursing home and couldn’t keep him anymore. My parents aren’t dog people either, by the way.  
HW: What kind of dog?  
MB: A malamute.  
HW: That seems like a great deal of dog for a family of not–dog people.  
MB: I know. But he was so, so beautiful. And huge, so much bigger than I was. Practically a pony. And completely easygoing for a malamute; he let me lie against him and read. And my sister was a toddler then, and he didn’t even mind when she’d grab at his ears or his tail. Just didn’t even pay any attention. Now that I think about it, he might not have noticed. Or he thought she was a gnat.  
HW: What was his name?  
MB: Pasha. At first I thought it was just a funny word—and then my mom explained to me what a pasha actually was, so I called him “Your Excellency” after that. Anyway, we didn’t have him for very long. He died when I was nine. I had never asked for a dog; I never wanted a dog. But I loved him more than almost anything before or since.  
HW: So you can be surprised. Happily surprised.  
MB: I can. My answer about the schedule was stupid, and I’m sorry.  
HW: My answer about needing a maid, before, was rather stupid. Honestly? I wish I had someone with whom I could share my daughter. I’m on the one hand terribly selfish about her, about her love, about her attention… but there are times when what she does seems so wonderful that she must be shared.  
MB: That’s incredibly… appealing. And it also seems like something that would be important for a close friend to know.

 _Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met._  
MB: It really is as if we’re on a very intense blind date.  
HW: That’s something you like about me?  
MB: No, just an observation. I like that you’re not shy.  
HW: Perhaps it’s all bravado.  
MB: Whatever it is, I like it.  
HW: I’m surprised to hear you say that. But in a similar vein, I like that you are something that I can’t quite name. Neither shy nor bold. I like that you blush when I flirt with you, but that it doesn’t… stop you.  
MB: I like that you’re also not shy about showing your intelligence. Wait, I might say that to someone I just met. But I do like it.  
HW: I like that about you as well. And that you’re a woman in your particular profession, because that can’t be easy.  
MB: I just try not to think about it. Obliviousness goes a long way.  
HW: Then I like that you’re oblivious to the slings and arrows. Or that you can pretend to be.  
MB: Pretending… I like how complicated you seem. It’s a good surface—supposedly wild past, now-settled professor, daughter you love—but I feel like there’s a reservoir that you aren’t quite letting me near. You got closest with friendship, I think. Friendship and your parents.  
HW: I like that you’re so observant.  
MB: I’ve been in law enforcement for a long time.  
HW: So perhaps for you, this has been nothing but a routine interrogation.  
MB: No, like I said, an intense blind date.  
HW: I would never say this on a blind date, because it would be misconstrued: I like the way your hands move.  
MB: You do?  
HW: Yes. You don’t talk with them, but you _move_ them. To illustrate. Very precise.  
MB: I like… okay, I really wouldn’t say this on a blind date, or to someone I just met. But I like that you seem kind of vain.  
HW: I beg your pardon?  
MB: Like you said before, about why you’d want to be able to sing. And you clearly know that you’re good-looking, and you dress well… it might make me sound superficial—I guess it actually does make me superficial, but I like that.  
HW: About anyone?  
MB: About anyone, yeah, but right now, about you in particular. I like the… results. On you in particular.  
HW: Thank you.  
MB: You’re welcome. Very welcome.

 _Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life._  
MB: Oh god. Do we have to?  
HW: I’ll go first here. When I was fifteen, I discovered that my brother had been reading my diary. In which I had been extremely confessional.  
MB: Ouch. What did you do?  
HW: Unfortunately, nothing. I tried to find similar blackmail-worthy material on him, but Charles was a very good boy.  
MB: Not if he was reading your diary he wasn’t.  
HW: Well, I’m his sister. We’re rarely good to our siblings, are we? Particularly at that age.  
MB: I was very good to my sister!  
HW: You refused to lend her your hairbrush.  
MB: Well, that was… I mean… yeah, okay.  
HW: And your embarrassing moment? Other than revealing your inability to share, that is.  
MB: Oh, man. The worst? I tried to start a science fiction club when I was in middle school.  
HW: Ah… and that was embarrassing? I seem to have missed something.  
MB: No, I was the one who missed something: how geeky it was to want to have a science fiction club.  
HW: I see.  
MB: See, and of course nobody came to the first meeting, so there I was, alone in a classroom with my English teacher. Somebody—I never found out who—saw me and told all the other kids about my pathetic little non-club. And then it was flying saucers. Aliens. Spaceships. Asteroids. Robots. You name the cliché, I found a picture of it pasted to my locker. Or shouted at me in the hall. It was stupid, but everybody was twelve. I really did bring it on myself: I was so, so serious about everything. Which is in itself embarrassing, by the way, not as a _moment_ in my life so much as the way it turned my entire adolescence into a cascade of embarrassment.  
HW: Interesting that we both reached back to childhood for these moments.  
MB: It gets worse as it sticks with you, doesn’t it? Okay, a little more recent, and I think this will be up your alley: I once walked in on my roommate having sex.  
HW: I was once walked in on by the roommate of the person I was having sex with. Perhaps it was you.  
MB: My roommate was sleeping with a six-foot-two blond guy. You might have changed your hair color and your gender in the past ten years, but I doubt you shrank by, what, seven or eight inches.  
HW: Didn’t you have some sort of prearranged signal?  
MB: We did, but I was tired and I guess I ignored it. Didn’t your, um, partner have some way to signal his, or her, roommate?  
HW: She did, and that is what made the situation embarrassing—not the roommate walking in, but that, based on the signal, she expected to… participate.  
MB: Oh. Okay. Did… no, that’s way, way too personal.  
HW: I thought that was the idea. Escalating intimacy.  
MB: I don’t think my problem is that it’s intimate. I think it’s that it’s just really not my business.  
HW: If you say so.  
MB: Wait, escalating intimacy is the idea?  
HW: Well. Doesn’t it… seem to be? Based on the questions? We began by inviting dead people to dinner and now we’re being caught in flagrante.  
MB: Nobody caught _me_. I caught _them_.  
HW: Nevertheless.  
MB: Oh all right. I give up. All that matters is that you win, right?  
HW: Thank you.  
MB: You’re welcome. Less so than last time.

 _When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?_  
MB: I don’t cry much. By myself, I sometimes cry when I’m tired.  
HW: When you’re tired?  
MB: Yeah. It’s weird, but I’ll get so tired that I start crying. Like I’m frustrated by the exhaustion.  
HW: And the last time this happened was…?  
MB: Last month? I think.  
HW: And in front of another person?  
MB: Two years ago. I think that was out of frustration too. It was when I didn’t go to Egypt, when we broke up. I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to happen, and that upset me.  
HW: Not the breakup itself.  
MB: I didn’t know whether I was upset about the breakup or upset about not being upset enough about the breakup. I’m not explaining it well.  
HW: That’s all right. I’ll take my turn. In front of another person: actually that was in front of a church full of people, at my mother’s memorial service. Afterward, it was very strange, I’d expected to cry more, with my father, with Charles, even with Christina, but that did not happen. And then by myself… sometime in the last month, perhaps. I have been known to shed very hot tears when I’m angry, but only ex post facto. I save them for when I’m alone: I replay that which angered me in whatever prior moment, and occasionally I’ll become so enraged that all I can do, in response to myself, is cry.  
MB: That sounds weirdly disciplined. Like something I’d do.  
HW: The discipline is important. Anger and I do not get on well.  
MB: I’ll keep that in mind.

 _Tell your partner something that you like about them already._  
MB: These things are all kinds of repetitive. I’ve had to tell you so many things I like about you!  
HW: Well then, what’s one more?  
MB: Fine. I like… I like your eyes.  
HW: That’s fortunate, as you’ll soon be staring into them.  
MB: I’d forgotten about that part.  
HW: I hadn’t. I like your eyes as well.

 _What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?_  
MB: I don’t know. I can’t tell jokes, but maybe if I could, I’d have some idea. Or maybe that would mean I’d think everything could be joked about.  
HW: I suppose I don’t like to joke about death. Superstition more than anything, but I want whatever gods are listening to understand that I do take death seriously. Although I’m guilty of the usual “please put me out of my misery” sorts of statements, so I suppose also that I don’t pay much attention to my purported beliefs.  
MB: It’s not your beliefs you aren’t paying attention to; it’s the words. I bet you don’t even notice when Christina says the word “music” now, do you?  
HW: Honestly? No. She does still tend to want it turned louder, however.  
MB: I think it’s like driving.  
HW: What is?  
MB: Talking. It’s like driving. When you learn to drive, you have to be so conscious of everything, how your actions translate into the movement of this piece of really heavy machinery. But then you get to the point where you don’t even think about the pressure on the gas pedal, on the brake. You don’t have to calibrate the translation. It’s just something you do.  
HW: Like saying words about death?  
MB: Words about death. Words about anything. We just say them. Programmatic.  
HW: Unless of course we’ve just met someone.  
MB: Do you think so?  
HW: I’m trying to choose my words very deliberately.  
MB: Yeah. I am too.  
HW: Such as “screamer.” Deliberate.  
MB: Oh, please. Put me out of my misery.

 _If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?_  
MB: See, this is what I was talking about before. Sort of. We say words that we don’t think about, and we don’t say the words we should be thinking about saying. Which might be why I don’t have a good answer for this question.  
HW: I will say that I try not to have regrets of this sort. I always tell Christina I love her, though she’s now usually in a mood to shrug it off. In any case, no regrets there. My father, my brother: I regret not saying things I should have said in the past, but I can’t travel back in time and say them then, when they would have mattered. I might feel a bit of regret for having praised my students insufficiently. My colleagues.  
MB: I guess… now that I’m thinking about saying words, I guess I’d regret not having told the right person I love them.  
HW: And you haven’t told that person because…? Oh. Because you haven’t found the right person.  
MB: Exactly. So it’s a regret, but not really one I can do anything about. The reverse of you with your father and brother: I’d have to travel into the future to even know who it is I’d regret not having said it to.  
HW: How far into the future, I wonder?  
MB: I wonder too. Maybe that’s what I need that crystal ball to tell me, instead of when I’m going to die.  
HW: Love and death. The two great hinges on which all human sympathies turn.  
MB: You’re a little weird.  
HW: Christina would most likely correct you: I’m a lot weird.  
MB: I’d believe her.  
HW: In my defense, it’s a quotation from something. And I think whoever said it isn’t wrong.  
MB: I didn’t say it was wrong. I said you were a little weird.  
HW: Deliberately chosen words?  
MB: Absolutely. Weirdo.  
HW: Thank you. Screamer.

 _Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?_  
MB: Why are so many of these about death and destruction?  
HW: You were complaining earlier about having to tell me what you like about me. Make up your mind!  
MB: Trust me, my mind is made up.  
HW: Oh? About what?  
MB: Ah. Um. What… wait. What I’d save in a fire. I’d save… um…  
HW: I thought your mind was made up.  
MB: I’m just trying to… look, you’re not helping.  
HW: Books. Works of art. Childhood mementos. Photographs.  
MB: What are you—  
HW: Now I’m helping.  
MB: You’re not. Seriously, I don’t know. Most of my stuff is pretty fungible. I’d probably grab something I thought I’d need to have, like my glasses. My wallet. I can just imagine calling up credit card companies: “No, my card wasn’t _stolen_ ; it _melted_.”  
HW: You could say it was stolen from you by the flames.  
MB: Out of everything I own, pick one thing that won’t be stolen by the flames? The jeans that fit me best? My backcountry skis? Ha, the thumb drive with the draft of that novel.  
HW: Wait, you’re writing a novel?  
MB: Well. Not really. Not one worth saving from a fire.  
HW: What is it about?  
MB: I’m not telling. Anyway, there’ll probably be a question about that in a minute: if you were writing a novel, what would it be about? Your turn.  
HW: I’ll save your novel. So that I can read it and find out what it’s about.  
MB: It won’t be at your house.  
HW: How do you know? The question doesn’t specify when the fire will happen.  
MB: You’re stalling. Worse than I did; you’re flirt-stalling.  
HW: That’s because I don’t have an answer either. If Christina is safe? Everything else is secondary. Possibly a box of her drawings and whatnot. Photographs—yet I don’t think I have any that are undigitized. I have a chess set my mother gave me, but…  
MB: How about… okay. I didn’t know if I should… and I probably shouldn’t, but… okay. I’ll just—how about your hat?  
HW: My hat? What hat?  
MB: In the winter, this past winter, you wore the most yellow hat I’ve ever seen. Why did you wear that hat?  
HW: How do you know the color of my hat?  
MB: I’ve seen you. From… this sounds stupid, but: afar. I’ve seen you from afar, because you park in the Lawrence Street garage. Usually. Right? And that’s where I park too. So I’ve seen you. That’s why I said parking was funny. It’s you and it’s me, and it is.  
HW: I… the hat. Because I didn’t have one, and on the first truly cold day, I didn’t realize how cold it would be. How cold my _ears_ would be. I was in a hurry, that first cold day, so I bought the first hat I could find, and it was bright yellow. Absurd. But Christina giggles uncontrollably whenever I put it on, so… but I can’t believe you’ve seen me. And I—  
MB: That hat is really, really yellow. Also, I’m not blind. And I’d have to be, not to notice you.  
HW: Thousands upon thousands of people attend this school, work at this school.  
MB: That’s true. I don’t see how it’s relevant, but it’s true.  
HW: You see precisely how it’s relevant.  
MB: I think you’re the one blushing now. Turnabout.  
HW: Not fair play _at all_.  
MB: You’re a really bad sport. Who wears a really yellow hat.  
HW: Well. All right. I’ll concede both points.  
MB: Ha. To quote some weirdo: all that matters is that I win.

 _Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?_  
HW: Christina. I doubt I could survive it. She’s the answer to so many of these questions, I’m sorry, but—  
MB: Why are you sorry? You’re her mother. I mean, of course. Wait, I heard a timer ding. Are we that slow? How many more questions do we have?  
HW: Just one after this. It was my fault that we got a late start.  
MB: I’m not in a hurry.  
HW: Good.  
MB: Although I’m looking forward to being finished with questions about death.  
HW: Well, give your answer, and we’ll move on.  
MB: My sister. Because she’s younger. I—this sounds callous, but I _expect_ my parents to die. I don’t want them to, but it seems more natural. Tracy dying wouldn’t be… it wouldn’t be _in order_.  
HW: Your logic suggests Charles should die before I do… oh, no, sorry, no more talk about death; we’re moving on to the last question.

 _Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen._  
MB: Well. Not death, at least. A problem…  
HW: I think your problem is that you are embarrassed about writing your novel. To help you with that, I’ll have to know what it’s about.  
MB: I take back that last positive characteristic thing I said. Your problem is that you actually won’t let things go. My advice to you is to never say the words “novel” or “screamer” to me again.  
HW: Perhaps your _fictional narrative_ is autobiographical and thus centers on a _loud vocalizer_.  
MB: You are relentless, aren’t you?  
HW: And back to positive!  
MB: Here’s my real problem: despite the fact that you’re a relentless weirdo, I… don’t want to stop talking to you. But this is the last question.  
HW: And here is my advice regarding how you might handle that: by calling me.  
MB: That seems like pretty good advice. Now you’re supposed to reflect back to me how I’m feeling about this problem.  
HW: You’re feeling better about it, now that I’ve told you to call me.  
MB: Relentless but also perceptive.  
HW: Why won’t you tell me what your book is about?  
MB: Because… god. Why am I telling you this? Because somebody in it wears a yellow hat, okay?  
HW: Do they.  
MB: Now my personal problem is that this floor isn’t swallowing me up right this second. To put me out of my misery.  
HW: _My_ personal problem is not knowing whether I should feel flattered or…  
MB: Definitely flattered. Even though honestly I think I guessed wrong on every single thing about you. Oh god, I just keep making it worse.  
HW: Not worse. How do I seem to be feeling about it now?  
MB: You seem to be feeling strangely… calm?  
HW: Not calm. Warm.  
MB: Still knee-jerk contrarian. Or not, because now we are both feeling warm. Or I have no idea, because—  
HW: Sssh. Go to the next page. Start the timer. Look at me.

****

Two women sit in a cubicle and gaze into each other’s eyes. For the first several seconds they do this, they are shifting into more-comfortable seated positions. Then they become quite still. The taller one eventually begins to fidget; she does not break eye contact with her partner, but she shifts in her chair. She runs her hands up and down her thighs, as if warming her palms, until the other woman, with an exasperated half-smile, uses her own hands to still them. For the remaining minutes, that is how they sit: one leaning slightly forward, her hands atop the other’s; she is balanced there, neither falling farther nor sitting back. Her mouth is still curved in its partial smile, but that smile now is pacific. Her companion’s lips are parted, and through those lips move shallow breaths. With each gentle exhalation, she moves a bit closer to the woman who is smiling.

When the timer chimes, they are less than two inches apart. They blink, as if awakening from a shared dream, and then disengage, quickly, with quiet laughs and slightly awkward words of apology, or perhaps regret.

****

When Helena Wells—who is the Health and Behavioral Studies professor supervising Claudia Donovan’s work on this research study—finally finishes conferring with Claudia about the evening’s results, over an hour has elapsed since she gazed into Myka Bering’s eyes. The discussion would have taken less time if Helena could have directed her attention fully to what Claudia was saying… if she could have concentrated on anything but the memory of those warm eyes meeting hers, those warm hands under hers, that mouth that would have been just as warm when it fell to hers, as she is certain it would have done if their four minutes had lasted even a few more seconds.

Claudia had eventually said, “You’re keeping your lip pretty zipped about your Q and A with Ms. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. If you won’t talk about it, how am I supposed to get the inside dope on the experience of the thing?”

“I simply need to… organize my thoughts.”

“I still think I should’ve done it instead of you. I bet your flirty-flirt thing skewed it.”

“Not if you want to remain the lead author. And what flirty-flirt thing?”

Claudia sighed. “Come on. You flirt with _furniture_. I think it’s how you _breathe_.”

“Oh, fine. But how am I to know what effect that had, if indeed it had any effect at all?”

“Well, was she into it?”

“I have no idea.” At that, Claudia had raised a quite skeptical eyebrow, and Helena said, as severely as she could, “As I told you, I am organizing my thoughts.”

“If you say so. Hey, it’d be awesome if you could get married before I do my six-month follow-up questionnaire. Solid gold not-straight data!”

“You know perfectly well that I cannot be part of your quantitative data. Nor, now, can Myka.”

“‘Nor, now, can Myyyykaaaaa…’” Claudia said, in her poor imitation of Helena’s voice. “I bet she got all flustered when you said her name like that.”

“I don’t believe I ever did say her name, thank you very much. And she is not the sort to be flustered.”

“Tall, dark, handsome, and ‘not the sort to be flustered’? You are _way_ into her. Like walk of shame tomorrow _morning_ into her.”

“What if I am? If, as you say, I flirt with furniture, I’m sure some attractive armchair will distract me in a moment.”

“Play it off all you want. But I hold in my hand her postinteraction questionnaire… and I think she liiiikes you. Wanna see it?” She waved the paper in Helena’s face.

Though Helena wanted to reach for it, grab it and see exactly what Myka had thought of their conversation—or rather, what Myka had thought it appropriate to report about their conversation—she shook her head. “I’ve finished with unfair advantages where she’s concerned. And you may make of that what you want.”

Now Helena walks through the parking garage toward her car, and as she does so, she thinks of Myka watching her walk to, or from, her car, in the winter, in that hat… she is thinking of that, to the exclusion of what is happening around her, such that it takes her a moment to notice that someone is standing next to her car and is, in fact, watching her approach. She experiences a moment of anxiety before she realizes, first, that the person is a woman, and, second, that that woman is Myka Bering. When Myka sees that Helena has seen her, she lowers her head in a way that might be shy, or relieved, or exhausted, or anything at all. When she looks up again, though, she begins to smile, slowly, and Helena thinks the head movement _was_ shy… no, only _partially_ so, really that same strange combination of bashful and poised that characterized Myka’s responses to so many of the questions. Helena is as charmed, charmed and stirred, as she was by nearly everything Myka said as they sat together in the cubicle. She lets an answering smile of what she hopes is some confidence make its way onto her own face, and she lengthens her stride… not too much, not to seem overeager, merely to move more quickly.

“What are you doing here?” Helena asks as soon as she is within non-shouting range, despite the fact that she thinks—she hopes—that she knows exactly what Myka is doing here.

“I told you I know where you park,” Myka says. “I would have left, but your car was still here.”

“Have you been waiting all this time? Since the end of the session?”

“I was here right after. Then I talked myself out of it. Then I talked myself back into it. I was just talking myself out of it again, but now here you are.”

“Here I am.”

Myka shakes her head. “I’m not a stalker, I promise. Although I’ve already admitted to watching you walk around in your hat, and making up words about you, and I’m standing here next to your car waiting for you, so I guess I actually am a stalker. I’ve never stalked anybody before this, though, if that makes any kind of difference to—”

“My turn,” Helena interrupts.

“Your turn to what?”

“To confess. I’ve seen you too. You wear nothing so distinctive as my hat, but I’ve seen you, because you’re tall, and the way you walk—”

Myka interrupts now. “Did you set it up? You and me, in the study? Because I already pretty much figured out that you’re involved in this thing somehow, not just as some random volunteer.”

Helena nods, hanging her head. She says, “I’m involved. Claudia is my student.”

“I thought it was something like that. You didn’t have a jacket or a bag or anything with you like everybody else did, and you said that thing about escalating intimacy… you put on a pretty good show, like you were surprised by the questions, but you clearly knew more than you were letting on.”

“You’re right; I knew. But remember, you volunteered to participate tonight, and I had nothing to do with that.” Helena sees Myka acknowledge this point with a nod. “Why _did_ you volunteer?”

“I lost a bet. With Pete.”

“A bet about…”

“Croissants. It’s a long story.”

They fall silent. Helena knows that she should start telling the truth now, because Myka isn’t wrong. “You volunteered,” she says again, “but I may possibly have influenced the situation. A bit.”

“A bit, huh? Which bit?”

“I was planning to participate,” Helena says, and when Myka gives her a Claudia-esque eyebrow-raise, “I was! And then you came in, and as I said, I’d seen you. Before. And… appreciated the sight.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me? I mean before.”

“I told you how people respond to the idea of a child.”

“I think we’re well past that now.”

“Exactly. The study… that’s in fact why I let Claudia talk me into participating. To see if someone could.”

“Get past it?”

“Yes. And tonight, there you were, and I thought, well, this is opportune. So I convinced Claudia to allow me to me swap places with the young lady who had been selected to be your partner. Would you have… preferred that I not?”

“How should I know? She and I might be here right now if you hadn’t taken her place.”

“Not _here_. Not standing beside my car.”

“Good point.”

Silence again. Helena says, tentatively, “Do you want me to apologize?”

“No. Well, I might want you to act apologetic for a minute or two.”

“I might want you to act apologetic too. For the pseudo-stalking. And as long as we’re asking, why did you never talk to me?”

“I told you about the mistakes.”

“But what do they have to do with me?”

Myka shrugs. “I didn’t want you to be one of them.”

This, Helena understands. “Safer to write about a woman who wears a yellow hat than to make a mistake with her? Or to make a mistake _of_ her?”

“Basically.” She shrugs again, but this time with a smile.

“So it seems that we both have been in need of a bit of help in developing close interpersonal relationships.”

“Have we?”

“Have we what? Been in need of help?”

“Don’t play dumb, you relentless weirdo.” And Helena is elated to hear Myka say _that_ out here, out in the world, in the same tone, for it suggests that the intimacy—the _escalation_ in intimacy—between them was, was and is, real. Myka then says, “Have we developed a close interpersonal relationship?” Her smile widens.

Helena tilts her head up slightly, because she has to, if she wants to look directly into Myka’s eyes. And those eyes, those eyes, they are the same as they were in the room: she sees in them the same sincerity and tough-mindedness and thoughtful calm and slight insecurity and even teasing provocation that she had gazed at for four minutes, four long, strange, excruciating, extreme, amalgamating minutes. She sees everything she had hoped she’d see, everything she wanted to keep seeing, and more. “Well, screamer,” she says, “I believe we’ve begun one. What do you want to do about it?” Helena steps closer, and Myka’s eyes flick downward. “Did you just look at my mouth?” Helena asks.

“Did I… what?”

“You heard me.” She moves even closer. “But I’ll repeat myself, since you’ve done it again: did you just look at my mouth? As I believe you did more than once, in the room, when we were talking. Almost as if you wanted to do something else. Rather than talk.”

“Something else.” Myka says this as if mesmerized; now she isn’t looking away from Helena’s mouth, and Helena waits. The minute Myka looks up again, the minute their gazes lock and they are once more seeing each other, seeing each other and being seen, Helena says “yes,” and she surges forward.

Nothing between them seems to have happened at the right speed—their watching from afar for so long, for too long, followed by the crash of sudden intimacy that was the cubicle and questions and the gaze, but all of that has added up to this: their lips are impatient together, greedy and seeking, as if this kiss has been an impossible length of time in the making, as if they’ve been _waiting_ , through those weeks and months of glancing, as if the glances had been followed as they should have been by hellos and tentative first conversational steps and eventual flirting and then more-serious conversations, over dinner, over drinks; as if they had tried for the expected soft goodnight kiss to end an evening together but had been interrupted before their lips could meet; as if they had missed that kiss over and over, felt it postponed again and again; as if they had and have ached in their dreams for each other; as if now, at last, those dreams are culminating, as perfectly as they can, in a kiss that is a continuation of a conversation, in which Helena can feel Myka laughing and accusing her of being relentless, in which Helena is teasing “screamer” and Myka is agreeing yes, yes I am.

And if this kiss and those that follow it, this kiss and everything that follows it, the weeks and months and years and all they contain, are merely the result of the experimental procedure, a product of the closeness-generating condition? Helena will not be able to bring herself to care. It does not matter how it happened; what matters is that it did happen, that it continues to happen. She and Myka will both thank Pete for winning a bet; they will thank Claudia for insisting on obtaining insider information; they will thank Christina for laughing at a yellow hat. And they will, perhaps most fervently, thank Arthur Aron and his co-authors for “The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings.”

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original Tumblr tags: the end isn't any kind of jewel of perfection, but I honestly had more fun with this than I had any right to, you know dialogue is my favoritest thing, I mentioned to lazyroughdrafts, that I might write them answering the 'small-talk condition' questions from the original study too, just for followup grins, (maybe while they're on a plane to Disneyland? or Egypt?), e.g. one question is 'If you could invent a new flavor of ice cream what would it be?', weirdly these would force me to flesh out the characters' backstories nearly as much as the closeness-generating ones did
> 
> And I'll add here, just as a confirmation/teaser: why yes, yes I did write them answering the "small-talk condition" questions. So the sequel will be coming your way soon.


End file.
